There are names for boys who carry the Bible the way Stiles Stilinski does and none of them are pretty. Stiles holds the good book as if he wants to devour scripture like a coyote devours its prey but there’s a delicacy to it, a fear of the holy. He’s clearly dressed in his father’s suit, the boy is swamped in fabric making him look like a child playing dress up. He’s been silent throughout the funeral, except for mouthing the words to Amazing Grace, but his right hand has been clenching and unclenching. The only physical display of the rage that’s simmering below the surface.
Trigger Warnings: Gore, Violence, Body Horror – please read the tags before reading this fic.
Brie 